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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27878666">the seas within me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordoniantrash/pseuds/Cordoniantrash'>Cordoniantrash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Distant Shores (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Choices 12 Days of Fictmas, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, OC - character - Freeform, POV Outsider, Slight mention of The Unexpected Heiress, on the nose imagery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:00:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,758</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27878666</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordoniantrash/pseuds/Cordoniantrash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Unable to instantly go back to the past, Claire and Robert go to Oliver’s seaside estate in the hopes of some clues”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oliver Cochrane/Main Character (Distant Shores)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the seas within me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>It was snowing when they arrived. The rising sun at their back had splashed colour on the white piles of freshly fallen snow at their feet while the distant sea breeze froze them in place. Claire felt <em>something</em> tug at her heart. There was something about this place, an almost indescribable <em>tingle</em>, a feeling of a feeling, which reminded her of <em>him</em>. She felt like she could close her eyes and find him there. It was absurd. They haven’t even had the chance to spend a winter together. All her memories of him, <em>of them</em>, are tethered to the waves, the ever present salt in the air and the unrelenting heat of the sun. So why can she almost hear his voice in this cold, snow-covered place?</p><p>“Huh. Expected something fancier.”</p><p>Claire felt the corners of her lips turn into a frown. It was becoming a steady companion in this hare-brained scheme. Her frown deepened when that indistinct tugging faded at the sound of his voice. It took some effort to unclench her jaw and her fist. To bite back the venom in her retort. <em>It wouldn’t do to annoy him out of helping me. </em>And so, stealing herself, Claire took a deep breath and repeated the mantra that began the moment she agreed to this plan.</p><p>
  <em>Just until I get back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just until I find them again.</em>
</p><p><em>Find </em>him<em> again.</em></p><p>“What time’s that tour supposed to start again?” she asked instead. Robert, ignoring the too long stretch of silence between them, stepped into her line of sight. Claire carefully wiped her face clean of emotion. Uneasy allies they might be, but she’ll be damned if she let him glimpse a crack, however small. Being betrayed once was enough for her.</p><p><em>If only the compass worked like last time! </em>Suppressing a sigh, she turned back to the estate. She’d been optimistic when they reached out to touch the compass. After all, all it took for her to travel that first time was a simple touch. The devastation when nothing happened nearly sent her to her knees in the middle of the museum.  It was only a slight consolation to find out that Robert had expected the same thing.</p><p>A breeze ruffled past them, the air fresh and bitingly cold. Claire rubbed her numb nose, her frown forgotten. At the corner of her eye, she saw Robert trying to hide his shivering. Claire suppressed a smirk.</p><p>Silence once again stretched between them. A bus full of students pulled up near their rented car. Claire couldn’t help but smile at the little faces peering from the windows, all of them bundled up despite the light snow. The adults with them did not seem to mind the cold as much. Tightening her hold on her hand warmer, Claire tried not to feel jealous.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe we got used to the Caribbean. Too used. Man, I really want to go back.</em>
</p><p>“Well,” Robert sighed as a staff member opened the door of the estate. “Here’s to hoping, I guess.”</p><p>“D’you think this’ll work?”</p><p>Robert glanced at her. Claire took it as her queue to walk.</p><p>“His family had the compass before some descendant of his thought it’ll be a good idea to donate it to the museum. If there’s anything that can explain why it’s not working now, it’s probably here.”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant.”</p><p>Robert paused, letting the last of the children run past them. “All those records of you as a captain must mean we got back.”</p><p>Claire frowned, “And what about you?”</p><p>Robert’s profile seemed to blend with the snow clouds ahead.</p><p>“That’s what we’re here to figure out, isn’t it?”</p><p>**</p><p>
  <em>Vice-Admiral Sir Oliver Francis Cochrane KCB (born c. 1722-24, Durham, England—died unknown) was an English naval officer most known for his short but successful maritime career where he had earned the moniker of “The Pirate Hunter” and his much speculated and scandalous personal life. Decades after his last known sighting, he had become a well-recognized literary romantic icon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Despite his early moniker of “The Pirate Hunter”, Cochrane had occasionally worked with pirates, particularly with the crews of Captain Edward Mortimer and the much disputed Captain Claire Velis. Whereas association with pirates is enough grounds of treason, Cochrane retained his position and rose through the ranks of the navy for his work in exposing the crimes and treason of other naval officers, most notably, his own father Francis, often with the help of Mortimer, Velis and their pirate crew.</em>
</p><p>Excerpt from High Seas and Piracy: A History of English Maritime Advances </p><p>**</p><p>The compass was silent.</p><p>Claire turned it over, as she had done again and again since she entered her hotel room. Robert had mumbled something about rum and a free bar before awkwardly hightailing out of the lobby. Claire felt too rung out to even think of a quip about pirates and alcohol.</p><p>The golden finish of the compass seemed to glow in the dark room, mocking her with the faint possibility of a return. Outside, the Christmas decorations glitter amidst the darkness and the sea breeze.</p><p>The tour hadn’t gone exactly as planned. For them, at least.</p><p>Not for the first time, doubt crashed and tumbled in her mind. Apparently there was a reason poets after his time found Oliver so fascinating. As someone who knew him, <em>loved him</em>, stayed and fought at his side, whose hands were stained with his <em>blood</em>—</p><p>Claire closed the compass with a snap.</p><p>Her heart felt heavy, an anchor dragging her down further into despair.</p><p>Charlie had made a name for herself, doing what she loves in freedom.</p><p>Charlie, who while being wily and nimble, ultimately could not outrun an empire.</p><p>Edward, doing more good and ascending into hero hood, depending whose side you ask.</p><p>Edward, who despite his strength and loyalty, was betrayed and handed over to the British.</p><p>Oliver, the successful navy officer. Loving father of two.</p><p>Oliver, who never got to rise to the ranks he deserved, who became a widower, ultimately becoming a figure of tragic romance, his final fate unknown.</p><p>All of them were shining brightly.</p><p>All of them doused before their time.</p><p>
  <em>If I go back could I change things? Can I lift them up, move them forward? Or will they run aground because of me?</em>
</p><p>The edges of the compass dug into her hands, forming indents where hands softened by inactivity pressed into the compass’ sides.</p><p>
  <em>Or will I just make things worse?</em>
</p><p>To return would mean chaos, but to stay where she was supposed to belong felt hollow.</p><p>Should she even go? Either way, it will turn her world inside out. She’d cause them all grief one way or another, the family she had in this present and the family she found back in time.</p><p>The tour guide’s words echoed in her mind:</p><p>
  <em>“He left England a hero and an eligible bachelor to boot. Almost a decade later he returned a father of two small foreign looking children and claimed himself a widower. His ever loyal crew refused to shed light on what happened during those years at sea.”</em>
</p><p>Claire blinked. Tasting salt on her lips, she hastily wiped away the tears that splashed onto the compass.</p><p>Outside, the fairy lights continued to twinkle. Their rhythmic pulsing at odds with the raging sea within her.</p><p>
  <em>What happened after I left?</em>
</p><p>**</p><p>
  <em>Oliver Cochrane was a creature of contradiction. Of chaos, one might even say. On one side, he was an exceptional officer, a step away from becoming an Admiral before he mysteriously disappeared. On the other side, he was an excellent example of British hypocrisy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Throughout his career, Cochrane toed the line between audacity and treason.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He had exposed numerous corrupt navy officials, while he also worked with pirates. What’s more, he had a rather well-known love affair with a pirate captain.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Records at that time proclaimed the affair short-lived, painting Captain Claire Velis in a rather unflattering light but contemporary evidence now opposes that idea and posits that the identity of his deceased wife (whom historians have precious few documents about) was none other than Captain Velis herself. Common consensus among high society at that time (and among historians) was that the mysterious mother of Cochrane’s children was the pirate captain herself. Further cementing Cochrane’s strange status in both 18th century Britain and in history.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His personal life aside, his apparent friendships with Captain Edward Mortemer and Captain Charlotte “Charlie” Smith was so prominent that one of the most salient theories of his ultimate fate after his disappearance was that he himself became a pirate when he last left England’s shores, a contradiction to one so hailed for his honour and morals.</em>
</p><p>Excerpt from Cochrane: Behind the Myth</p><p>**</p><p>“Oh, hello dear.”</p><p>Claire turned and almost collided with a smaller figure. The tour guide from yesterday was standing in front of her. A glance at the pin on her blazer identified the older woman as Tina. In smaller letters under the name was the word CURATOR. Claire hastily stepped back.</p><p>The curator smiled.</p><p>“Aren’t you one of the people on the tour yesterday? The names Tina,” she said as she offered her hand. Claire found herself smiling as they shook hands.</p><p>“Uh, Claire Velis. Nice to meet you,” as soon as the words left her mouth, Claire felt herself freeze. <em>Damn it! The hell was I thinking!</em></p><p>Tina’s eyes seemed to sparkle, “Claire Velis, you say? My, what a coincidence!”</p><p>Claire blushed.</p><p>“My parents were fans,” she mumbled.</p><p>“I’ll say!”</p><p>“Uh… yeah.”</p><p>“You must have loved the mention of your namesake then?”</p><p>Claire arranged her face into a smile.</p><p>“Right. Yeah. It was very interesting.”</p><p>“You know, I’ve always wanted to meet Captain Claire,” at Claire’s wide eyes, Tina let out a tinkling laugh. “Of course, I never thought it’ll be a namesake, but here we are. In fact, you look quite a lot like her drawings.”</p><p>Claire swallowed, “Is that so?”</p><p>Tina nodded, “Oh, would you like a cuppa? I noticed you were very interested in the tour yesterday. Besides, it’s almost the holidays,” she leaned in, smile growing. “We’ll have some tea and some mince pies as well! What do you say?”</p><p>“Oh! I wouldn’t want to impose –“</p><p>“Oh, pish posh! It’s no imposition at all, dear.  It isn’t often we get tourists here, you know what I mean? Usually it’s always field trips and the like. Sometimes academics, if we’re lucky. Besides, tea is just the thing when it’s this cold out. ”</p><p>Claire followed the curator inside the building, bewilderment and relief making her mind buzz.</p><p>As they passed by an open doorway, Claire felt something tug at her.</p><p>
  <em>A familiar tug.</em>
</p><p>Claire stopped in her tracks.</p><p>The room looked similar to the public exhibitions, with glass boxes in pedestals displaying some artefact or another. The feeling, however, was leagues away from the public rooms.</p><p>
  <em>It was tugging me here.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, what a lucky find!”</p><p>Claire jumped. Tina smiled as she leaned toward the doorway.</p><p>“It’s a special display, see? We’re going to show it to the public soon.”</p><p>“W-what’s in this one?”</p><p>Tina glanced at her, eyes twinkling again. “It’s a collection of Oliver Cochrane’s personal effects. Or what’s left of them. Would you like a peak?”</p><p>“I—are you sure?”</p><p>“Of course, dear,” Tina’s eyes seemed to droop. “Captain Claire may not have had the chance to see it. At least a namesake can. Wouldn’t you agree?”</p><p> Throat suddenly dry, Claire offered a nod.</p><p>“Let’s go then!” Tina exclaimed as she entered the room.</p><p>Claire stepped forward.</p><p>The world seemed to blink.</p><p>“Claire? You alright? Hang on, I’ll call the nurse –“</p><p>“Wha—no, no, please. It’s fine.”</p><p>Tina’s eyebrows furrowed. Claire straightened, pointedly ignoring the twinge in her temples. The headache had taken her by surprise.</p><p>
  <em>So different from the first time I travelled.</em>
</p><p>“—here, just sit down here for a moment.”</p><p>“I’m really fine—“</p><p>“Of course,” Tina smoothly interjected. The curator seemed to regain some composure. “But better safe than sorry, yes? I’ll get the nurse, dear. Be back in a jiffy.”</p><p>Claire sighed as Tina left the room, exchanging a couple of words with the security guard before waving back at Claire and rounding a corner.</p><p>Claire shook her head and looked around the room.</p><p>She froze.</p><p>There was a necklace inside the display in front of her (not the one she was currently wearing. The one that belonged to her grandmother). No, this necklace was obviously old and weathered besides. The shine of the silver peeking behind dark spots. The label under it calls it a Cochrane family heirloom.</p><p>And it was the same exact copy of the one hanging on her neck.</p><p>Except she wasn’t wearing this necklace when she travelled for the first time.</p><p>Outside, the waves crashed and crested. The snow kept falling.</p><p>Going forward will mean turbulent waters and uncertain winds.</p><p>But a ship cannot sail in becalmed waters.</p><p>Inside her, hope surged.</p><p>**</p><p>
  <em>1752</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Will that work?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, we haven’t been twiddling our thumbs while you were off smooching with high society.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Charlie.” One word contained an entire conversation’s worth of chastisement. Charlie shrugged but fell silent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Edward sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. But it seemed like the compass is lacking a catalyst of some sort.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A spark if you will.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s not a guarantee.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No. We’re groping in the dark here. But there has to be something that can work on this side.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oliver sighed. “I suppose it’s better than nothing.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Charlie smiled, “That’s the spirit. We’ll get her back here yet.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oliver’s lips curled into a shadow of a smile.</em>
</p><p>**</p><p>The compass was humming.</p><p>Claire and Robert stand amidst a partially shattered exhibition room. Security alarms had just started blaring while some artifacts seemed to pulse with light. Beside her, Robert looked tense. But Claire felt calm. There seemed to be some form of energy in the room for the compass to actually come to life.</p><p>“Well. Here we are. Just in time for Christmas too.”</p><p>“Yeah. Whodathunk?”</p><p>“Certainly not me, Velis.” A particularly loud alarm blared. They both winced. “You ready?”</p><p>Claire took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”</p><p>“… do it then.”</p><p>There was a flash of white light.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>.</p><p>A moment later, the doors burst open. The staff looked around in shock and bewilderment. The room was in chaos, that much was clear.</p><p>But there was no one inside.</p><p>**</p><p>
  <em>When I was younger, I used to pretend my mother was a mermaid. My older brother had indulged my fantasies and our imaginary mermaid mother would become a fixture in my make believe plays. On the days, months and years that bordered the beginnings of our fleeting visits and even shorter holidays, I, an imaginative child prone to wild fancies, would sometimes believe my own story. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Before I understood what really was going on, I used to ask Father of her fate. He would humour me, a twinkle in his eye as he told me she was lost at sea, a romantic fate that contrasts with the pitying looks thrown our way when Father wasn’t looking. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps it was one of his favourite sayings that stuck this particular fancy within me. After all, he always told Eddie and me that the sea was in our blood. My older brother, ever the man of reason, took that quite literally and followed in our Father’s footsteps, becoming a sailor as soon as he could.  Experiencing adventures that our parents surely had. Whereas I was content enough to experience adventure through the page, whether through my brother’s letters or my own pen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But sometimes, when I look out to the sea, I can’t help but wonder if there was any truth to my childhood fancies. But that probably is just sentiment talking. Father had always remarked that my stories should set foot on a stage of some kind, something that Aunt Adelia and Uncle Axton would heartily agree with. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Over the years, I had often wondered at the irony of a navy officer’s daughter having pirates as aunts and uncles. An unforeseen consequence of being the Pirate Queen’s progeny, I’d imagine. </em>
</p><p><em>Perhaps Mother </em>was <em>a mermaid masquerading as a pirate. Or perhaps it’s the other way around. </em></p><p>
  <em>All I know is that being lost at sea, for all its romance, does not quite fit my parent’s fate. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope—no. I know—they must have found each other.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The sea is in our blood, after all. </em>
</p><p>- Excerpt from the diary of Marcelline Somerset <em>née</em> Cochrane, Viscountess of Ashbourne</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A/N:<br/>As usual, huge thanks to thelittleteapot for betaing and to the hosts of this years 12 Days of Fictmas!<br/>Title from Notos by The Oh Hellos.<br/>This surprisingly had a lot of number wrangling that didn’t make the text (rip my last braincell - don’t get me started on the research and the excepts). Also had a bit of a crossover with The Unexpected Heiress (haven’t played it yet). Anyways, lemme know what you guys think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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